Repetition
by emJeanie
Summary: When things get out of control, you can always rely on a friend.


Hi everyone!

I've been a stressful week so I thought I'd try and take my mind off of things by writing. I'm really nervous about what people will think of this story and what rating I should of given it. Please let me know if you think it's ok.

Em-J

Disclaimer: I don't own the mentalist

Dedicated to all those who read/review/like my stories.

Repetition. 

Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub.

His hands are red raw, skin blistered and bleeding from the boiling water. Inside he is screaming in agony, yet he carries on. Washing and washing over and over. He can't stop. Part of him wants to stop but his conscience is telling him no. His hands are not clean yet. It's been three whole months since 'the worst moment of his life '.He had betrayed a good friend, his best friend, all because he needed comfort. Someone to hold him and care for him, just for a moment. Lisbon told him that he wasn't himself. He were lost and broken and confused, yet he's still filed with guilt and anger and shame. She had forgiven him but he couldn't forgive himself.

Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub.

He has to do this. He needs to do this. Hands held under the tap as the water gets hotter and hotter, skin bright red and burning but the hands stay put. Fighting the urge to turn off the tap and plunge his hands into the nearest ice bucket he could find. No, he had to do this. Washing and washing, over and over. He liked the repetition. In a strange way it reassured him that everything would be fine. If he kept on washing he'll be fine.

Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub

This isn't the first time. He has scrubbed his hands like this more times than he can remember. Every time he has felt guilty. Every time he remembers his mistakes. Every time they fail to catch Red John. Washing and washing, over and over. Sometimes it was soap. Sometimes it was shower gels or shampoo. The first time it had been bleach. The day after that he had met Sophie Miller.

Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub.

He never heard the bathroom door open. He never saw her concerned face. He never saw the heartbreak in her eyes.

Instead, he carried on washing. Over and over and over. The hot water tap had been gradually getting warmer and warmer until it was scalding him. He continued to let it run over his hands until the tap was gently turned off. Soft, kind hands took his wrists.

'it's ok Patrick'. she told him, voice gentle and reassuring. He turned to look at her, green eyes brimming with tears. His guardian angel was here. The person who should hate him more than he hates himself. 'Let me look at your hands ok?' Patrick stayed silent as she lead him out of the bathroom and through the bullpen, tears silently pouring down his cheeks. They reached her office and she opened the door, sitting him down on the sofa.

'I'm going to get something for the burns ok?' she told him, her voice was gentle and soothing. He nodded and watched her leave, returning just a few second later with a green box full of medical supplies. He watched her tenderly rub cream over his hands, working it in between his fingers, the coolness of the cream started to ease the burning. He instantly felt guilty. Why was she doing this after all he put her through? Bad place or not, he wasn't supposed to hurt her. When she began bandaging his hands, he broke down.

'I'm so sorry!' he sobbed, 'I'm so so sorry Teresa'. She shook her head and ran her fingers through his hair. 'No Patrick you have nothing to be sorry for. You were in a bad place and you weren't yourself, but I'm going to help you ok? We're all here for you'. She held him as he cried, shushing him in a soothing voice until he calmed down. Teresa wiped tears from his face before gently taking his hands in hers and rubbing soothing circles over them with her thumbs. ' Where are you staying tonight?' she asked him. Teary eyes gestured to the battered sofa in the bullpen. Teresa shook her head. ' I want you to stay with me ok Patrick? I don't want you to be here. I don't want you on your own'. He nodded and she gave him a reassuring smile before gathering her things, gesturing for him to follow her out of the door. As they left the building, she took one of his bandaged hands and gently rubbed soothing circles over it with her thumb.

Circle, circle, circle, circle.

Yes Patrick Jane liked repetition.

So there it is! Please let me know what you think.

Em-j


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